Once Upon Another Time
by Child of Dreams
Summary: The year is 1871 and Paris is under siege by the Prussians. With her fiancé dead and no one willing to hire her, Christine finds herself living on the streets, begging for food and sleeping in abandoned cathedrals. But what happens when Erik finds her lying unconscious and close to death in a dirty alleyway? "CATEGORY WINNER F0R 'BEST ANGST'"
1. Once Upon Another Time

****Once Upon Another Time**** ** **  
**** ** **By: Child of Dreams****

 _ ** _ **Disclaimer: Child of Dreams does not own Phantom of the Opera.**_**_ _ ** _ **  
**_**_ _ ** _ **Unfortunately.**_**_ _ ** _ **  
**_**_ _ ** _ **But she does own this story, so no plagiarism, please!**_**_

 _ ** _ **Notes: In this story, Christine never returned to the Opera House for the Bal Masque.  
She and Raoul fled to the De Chagny family chateau after the scene on the rooftop, and three months later, on December 26, Raoul was hit by a shell on his way back home from the Palais Garnier. **_**_

* * *

__"There was a time - not very long ago - when we lived in an enchanted world filled with elegant palaces and grand parties..." - Anastasia (1997)__

January, 1871  
Paris, France

A small, slender figure wandered through the snowy streets, the moans and cries of the wounded and dying filling the air around her.  
At first glance, one would not recognize her as the former diva of the Palais Garnier.  
Her chocolate curls were tangled and matted with blood and all manner of filth, her dress in tatters and hanging loosely on her fragile frame.  
Her brown eyes, once shining with happiness were now dull and filled with sorrow.

Paris had been under siege by the Germans since September, when she had still lived in the opera house, and everything seemed perfect.  
Obviously, the theatre workers had known of what was going on outside the building's walls, but with their daily lives consisting of glamour, hard work and backstage gossip, the war seemed so far away...

Now, however it was impossible to ignore!  
Everywhere in the city, people were starving.  
Once upon another time, she would have married her childhood sweetheart and they would have left all of this behind.  
She would have been a Vicomtesse, living in a chateau just outside of Paris with a wonderful husband and as many children as she could give him.  
But now all of that was gone.

Raoul was dead.  
Killed while defending their beloved city from the Prussian invaders.  
After his death, his mother had coldly informed her that she was no longer welcome in the family chateau, and so - heartbroken and starving with nobody willing to hire __The Phantom's Whore__ , Christine found herself on the streets, forced into begging for food and sleeping in whichever church was closest.

Harsh coughs wracked her thin frame as she sank to the ground in a dirty alleyway, a ragged blanket wrapped around her shoulders for some semblance of warmth, the icy chill of the wind settling into her bones and freezing her lungs.  
Not for the first time, she wondered had become of her Angel?  
Was he dead? Was he alive? Was he starving like the rest of them, or had he somehow managed to use his talents to procure enough food to satisfy a hungry stomach?  
She prayed that whatever the situation, if he was alive, he was safe and away from all of the danger here on the city streets.

As for her, it was probably too late.  
She'd been so tired lately and when she coughed, she could see blood.  
 _ _"Ange de la Musique, guide et gardien..."__ she whispered weakly into the cold, night air, a dull sleepiness stealing over her mind.  
Visions of her father alive and playing his violin danced behind her eyes.  
She could almost hear the beginning notes to __The Resurrection of Lazarus__...  
"Papa," she breathed out as she sank into unconsciousness, a peaceful smile on her lips.

* * *

Meanwhile, Erik was doing the same thing he had been doing every day of his life.  
Surviving.  
Presently, he was returning from delivering "liberated" food supplies to an old friend.  
Walking past a small alleyway, his highly trained ears picked up a familiar voice on the wind.  
His yellow eyes narrowed slightly.

That was Christine's voice.  
Erik would know it anywhere.  
What was she doing here in the middle of the fighting when she should be safely away from the city and happily married to her thrice-damned boy?  
Muttering curses under his breath, Erik stepped into the alley, all the while keeping a cautious eye out for danger, just in case.

The first thing he saw was what, at first glance, appeared to be a bundle of dirty rags.  
But then he looked closer, and upon seeing the familiar riot of brown curls, he swore colorfully under his breath.  
It was Christine.

But __sacre bleu__ , what had happened to her?  
She was so thin!  
And was that __blood__ in her hair?

Erik's hands trembled violently as he checked for a pulse, almost breaking out in a fit of relieved sobs when he found one, weak as it was.  
Glancing down at her deathly pallor and blue-tinged lips, the former Phantom came to an immediate decision.  
Effortlessly lifting the young brunette into his arms - __Mon Dieu, she was so light!__ \- he walked out of the alleyway and back out into the street.  
Nadir's flat was only a few short blocks away, it wouldn't take long for him to get there - and then he could see to his Angel's recovery.  
He just prayed that she would be able to hold out that long...

A/N: Please review if you want Chapter 2...


	2. Angel Of Music, My Protector

Chapter Two: Angel of Music, My Protector

Nadir was sleeping when he was rather rudely awoken by a harsh banging on his door.  
"I'm coming, I'm coming!" he called irritably.  
Pulling on a robe for warmth, he made it downstairs just in time to see the door crash open and a familiar masked man standing in the doorway.  
"Dammit, Erik!" he snapped furiously, but was shocked into silence by the sight of an unconscious female clothed in rags.

Eyes bulging at the sight, the Persian could only sputter incoherently as his friend of over twenty years moved past him and up the stairs without a single word of apology.  
"Erik!" he protested, hastening after the former Phantom, only to find his masked friend entering the parlor and laying the unknown woman down on a setee before proceeding to light a fire in the large fireplace.  
As soon as Erik deemed the amount of heat emitting from the fireplace adequate, he turned and roughly grabbed Nadir by his collar, practically shoving the startled Persian toward the couch.

"You _will_ help her, Daroga!" the former Phantom - no, this was not the former Phantom, this was the man that all of Persia had dubbed "Angel of Death" - hissed menacingly, his yellow eyes glowing with hellfire, making it clear that this woman's death would _not_ be acceptable.  
Rolling his eyes at Erik's dramatics, the Persian cursed the masked man under his breath as he examined the unconscious woman, said masked man hovering anxiously behind him.  
"Well?" Erik demanded impatiently.  
Nadir sighed and looked up.  
"Severe malnourishment, pneumonia and a partially-healed head wound," the Persian diagnosed grimly.  
"She also needs a bath," he added wryly.

Without another word, the former Phantom scooped the unconscious young woman into his arms and carried her upstairs, the Persian following closely behind, only to find his masked friend entering the first bedroom on the left, which just so happened to be Nadir's own room, and laying Christine down onto the bed before removing her filthy, ragged garments until she was clad in only her chemise.  
Covering her with his own cloak for modesty, he then proceeded to light a fire in the hearth, before entering the adjoining bathroom, where Nadir immediately heard the familiar sound of running water.

* * *

 _Christine was seven years old again, sitting by her father's sickbed.  
"Papa, don't go!" she sobbed desperately.  
Gustave reached out a pale, trembling hand and gently stroked his daughter's soft curls.  
"I must, Lotte," he whispered weakly.  
"But don't worry. When I'm in Heaven, I will send the Angel of Music to you."_

 _The scene faded and was replaced by the little chapel of the Palais Garnier.  
It had clearly been some months since her father's death, as Christine was much thinner than she'd been in the previous memory, yet still looked to be a mere seven years of age.  
A candle had been lit and her father's portrait had been placed in front of it, along with a handful of deep purple carnations._

 _"Papa, you promised!" the little girl wept.  
"Why did you lie?"  
Suddenly, a voice filled the room, a voice of such perfect beauty as none she'd ever heard.  
Its seraphic tones immediately captivated the awestruck child, and she could do nothing but sit there and listen with wide eyes as the Voice sang what sounded like a lullaby, although she didn't recognize the language._

 _It didn't matter, though, for she was soon fast asleep, not even stirring when a tall masked figure gently lifted her into his arms and carried her back up to her bed in the ballet dormitories._

A/N: Please review if you want Chapter 3...


End file.
